


In the Snow

by TA141



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, as if these two aren't broken enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4503000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TA141/pseuds/TA141
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Arkham City's snow was gray, stained by tar and acrid smoke. Wells of shimmering oil and ice smudge out her curling script, blurring her undying love." Harley wants to show something to her dear Puddin,' and the Joker has a few words for his little Harlequin as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Snow

She wrote 'I love you' once in the snow. It was a simple gesture, not fit to convey all she felt, but it was the closest she could get. 

When she dragged him outside by his elbow, he threatened decapitation and then hacked like his lungs were at the edge of his tongue. She rubbed him between the shoulder-blades until he calmed and kept smiling _(smiling, smiling smile smile smile)_.

Harley flourished her message to him with a wide sweeping arc of her arms and grinned like she would fall apart if she didn't. For a moment, he just stared, annoyed and confused at the ground behind her.

And then he smiled, because he'd forgotten how amusing she could be.

"Pooh," he said, voice like a creaking gate, "I can't read that."

The look on her face was hilarious. He would've laughed if he hadn't known that would've given their position away, if he didn't taste his own blood every time he did. 

Harley whirled around, her twin ponytails swinging like a blonde propeller. 

Arkham City's snow was gray, stained by tar and acrid smoke. Wells of shimmering oil and ice smudge out her curling script, blurring her undying love. 

"Ah, ain't it just like this dump," she snapped, folding her arms angrily, "I was only gone for five minutes."

He snorted. 

"It's more than just a dump, Harley," he chastised, "It's our own little hellhole."

Harley sighed, craning up at the sky, mottled gray and blue-black like bruises, "It said 'I love you.'"

"Oh?" His mouth fell into a bored slant, "How anticlimactic."

"Just felt like reiterating," she replied, looking at him with fierce, desperate eyes, "I do. Forever. I'm never gonna leave you."

"Hmm," he kicked a clump of snow into an oil puddle, "Don't I know it."

Harley chewed her lip hesitantly, because it didn't seem like he did. She wanted to tell him his skin still burned her these days, still made her shiver. She wanted to dig apart her chest and present her bleeding, shattering heart. She wanted to ask if he was real, because sometimes, sometimes, she wondered if this was a nightmare. 

"I think you're beautiful."

His grin sharpened, jagged like broken glass, "'Course I am, you just figuring this out? People are always so slow on the uptake, trying to make me change…"

"I never want you to change," she said simply and a thin shade of Harleen sobbed. 

Perhaps he heard it, because he laughed—loud and sudden and echoing, a madness ravaging the silence. Short-lived, as the air caught and strangled in his throat. 

The Joker bowed over like a strained twig, hacking, blood dripping wet and red down his rictus grin. Harley wrapped a palm against the curve of his spine, so protruding against his skin _(he was losing weight fast they needed food but there wasn't enough never enough everyone was starving to death)_

"Oh, little Harley," he hacked into his fist, utterly amused, "What on Earth is going to happen to you?"

White wraith-like ice clenched in her chest. 

"I don't know," she whispered, her breath pale and wispy, "I think I might die."

"How boring," he snorted, spitting out another glob of blood, a red splatter across the snow, where she had written the word 'love,' "You're not part of this game. Never were."

With shivering fingers, she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, where she had begun to stash them.

"What do you want me to do then?" 

"What do I care?" he snatched the handkerchief as she handed it over, mopping carelessly at the blood smear across his mouth, "Since when has it ever _mattered—_ "

"No," she shook her head, almost violently, and faint screams rattled in her skull, "No, don't say that. You need to tell me, Mr. J, I can't…I-I can't…"

The words were like mayflies, dead in a heartbeat, decaying in her throat. She stared with white-filled eyes at the greasy snow. The Joker had chosen the steel mill, because it was nestled in a corner of the so-called city, leaving only three basic walls to defend. In an attempt to freshen up the place, she had strung purple-green ribbons, spray-painted the walls and lashed rainbow clumps of balloons at the highest peaks of the mill towers. Everything was gray now, the oil and grease staining every color, every surface, choking the life out of the world.

"I would do anything," she heard herself say, though the voice was alien, on the cusp of something horrible, " _Anything._ "

If it had been any other poor soul, the alarm bells would've rung. Fear shining bright on some nobody's wind-chapped face. But it's not anyone with her. It's only him. 

It's only ever been him.

The Joker just looked at her, like he's watching a particularly pathetic bug squirming on its back. 

She wants to touch him. She wants to wrap her hands around his brittle wrists and squeeze, as if she could keep the life in him that way. She wants to tell him that she could barely remember Harleen Quinzel anymore, that it feels like she’s been with him since the beginning of time.

 _You can't do this to me,_ a voice, a hoarse sob, _You can't make me into a monster and then…_

But he can.

The Joker has always done what he wants.

"Harley," he drawls, eyes half-lidded, looking off into the Gotham horizon, "I've said it before. I've said it over and over again. When is it going to get through your little blonde skull?"

She stares at him, confused. Grey snow has melted into the puddles her message had created, filling the slushy grooves. The 'I' and the 'You' have vanished.

Joker sucks a breath through his teeth, as if he's already bored and tired of the whole thing. 

"You can't save me," he says, flatly, "No one can. Not you or God or even Batsy. It's a dead idea. A done joke. Too _late_. Just accept it already and move on. I did ages ago." 

And then without a second's pause, without a minute glance at her, he turns and walks back inside. She watches his back, sharp and hollowed, brittle and starved. 

The tears that leak from her eyes feel like fire across her face. 

They plop and melt into the blood, pooling bright in the snow. They trickle down and stain 'Love' with a crimson hue.

**Author's Note:**

> Beyond late with this, but I started Arkham City about a week ago and MY MIND HAS BEEN SHATTERED EVER SINCE. As if the stunning graphics and fluid gameplay wasn't already enough, the story is very compelling and well-written, with lots of twists and surprises to keep things interesting. Highly recommended to anyone and everyone.


End file.
